


Shame On Me (part one)

by Lurea



Series: Fool Me Once [9]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Battle Couple, Confessions, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, I hope you like tropes, Identity Porn, Love Confessions, M/M, Rare Pairings, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Tropes, Trust Issues, there's only one bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-02-10 15:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurea/pseuds/Lurea
Summary: Deacon mentally ticked off the life events that warranted 'congratulations' from random acquaintances and the bad feeling got worse.  "Let me see that note."MacCready glanced down at his hand as if surprised to see it there.  "Sure, here," he said, handing it back.  "Want some light?"  He stretched and put on the little lamp on the table next to the bed.  Part of Deacon was getting very distracted at having a warm, sleepy-smelling MacCready that was nearly naked pressed so close to him.But even that was secondary to what was written on the paper.Well, crap.He didn't realize that he'd said it aloud until MacCready looked over at him, eyebrows raised.  "What?  It can't be that bad, the guard didn't kick us out?"He handed it over silently and watched him read it.  In Blue's neat writing:RJ MacCready will be occupying Home Plate for an unspecified period of time with my blessing, accompanied by his husband, for his honeymoon.  Please extend the same courtesy to him that you would to me, blah, blah.





	1. Sugarpie, Honeybunch, You Know That I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> Surprised to see that (part one)? Yeah, the two halves eventually grew so far apart in tone and atmosphere that it made more sense to post them as separate stories, but I didn't want to change the title! Shame On Me is, has been and always will be the finale of the series. Ergo, part one, part two. 
> 
> The first half of the story takes place in Diamond City and I have taken many many liberties with the architecture. Most notably, I added a bathroom to Home Plate, added a back door to Nick’s office and another (hidden) back door to Fallon’s. I also changed the roof tops and transient quarters. In short, if you read something that you don’t remember seeing in Diamond City, it’s likely because I added it. As for tropes—hope you like ‘em! I smushed up a bunch of my favorites and tossed them at Deacon and MacCready. 
> 
> So, come on, dear reader, take my hand. Let’s head over to the Great Green Jewel and see what we find...

The afternoon air in the ruined apartment building tasted like blood, stupidity and a really poor set of decision-making skills. Not Deacon’s, who’d been innocently traveling to Diamond City like an, um, innocent traveler. MacCready, because when he’d spotted him holed up in a corner of the old market, taking potshots at mutants, he’d had to turn off his stealth field and intervene. Not that it had gotten him anything like _thanks_ , because MacCready just grinned at him fiercely, his blue eyes glittering with adrenaline, and then followed the Diamond City security force when they advanced. He had a splash of blood on the chest piece of his combat armor –not his own—and Deacon was glad Blue had finally upgraded the crap he usually wore. MacCready wasn’t wearing the helmet, which made his heart jump into his throat every time gunfire came their way. 

_Sir could have walked, er, snuck past,_ British-butler said, and even in his own mind, it sounded faintly apologetic. Deacon shook his head. Him, Blue, MacCready _and_ his interior mental voices knew that wasn’t happening, even though wading into a firefight was distinctly out-of-character for him. HQ would never believe it. Where the hell was Blue? Where the hell was _anyone?_

The guards advanced into what Deacon was sure was a blind alley. Deacon was lurking in the back when the inevitable ambush occurred. In the scrambling retreat, he almost lost sight of the shorter man. The guards fell back toward the nearest building and he and MacCready were carried along with them. Which maybe wasn’t the best choice, per se, since the amount of gore and mess indicated that the mutants had been setting up a base in that particular building. Not to mention the _smell_. 

They got backed into a stairwell that left them with nowhere to go but up, so they did, him treading nearly on MacCready’s heels, anxiety clogging his throat. On the next floor, they found more mutants, big surprise. They got into a relatively sheltered position behind the elevator shaft, where he could let Mac’s sniping skills have free reign. He could hear the survivors fighting on the first floor. The guard that had been behind them on the stairs was down, breathing his last through a bubbling hole in his throat. Deacon had to look away from the desperation in the guard’s too-young face. If these stupid Diamond City guards got them turned into Mutant soup meat, he was going to _kill_ them. 

They were crouched low, with MacCready peering around the side, trying to see through the haze of dust and gun smoke hanging in the still air. Deacon reloaded his rifle as fast as he could while MacCready swapped out magazines. A suspended meat bag hung to their right, swaying back and forth and occasionally dripping blood onto the floor. 

Shots smacked into the metal lining of the elevator shaft—fired wildly from what sounded like a light hunting rifle. Deacon was pretty sure that there was a hole in the back wall close by, above a gently-sloping field of rubble. Once there was a pause in the fighting, he could grab MacCready, stealth, slip down to the street, and melt away into the maze of buildings. Because, realistically, even if some of them were occupied—there was at least a thirty percent chance of them not being occupied by _supermutants_. 

MacCready leaned forward and released two controlled bursts from his rifle. Hair-raising screams followed by a heavy thud. MacCready glanced back at Deacon and Deacon gave him a thumb’s up. So far so good. Before he could enact his plan, there was a roar from the far side of the building and his heart sank into his shoes. That...didn’t sound good. MacCready was leaning around the corner of the elevator again, and Deacon fought down the urge to drag him the hell out of here. He knew panicked running created more problems than it solved. 

MacCready grunted. “One of those ones with the hats. And armor.” Their eyes met and Deacon could see a mix of resignation and determination in the other’s gaze. Hats and armor were never a good thing, it meant one of the higher intelligence mutants, hence tougher and better-armed. 

As if in answer, another roar came. Close enough that he could distinguish the words. “Puny humans! I smell you! Smell your fear!” The floor shook and then a veritable hailstorm of bullets swept the hallway. The light five-millimeter ammo didn’t pierce the walls but it did shred the remains of the erstwhile Diamond City guard, where he was lying half in the hall, and half on the stairs. Literally. 

MacCready was lining up Molotov cocktails in a neat row, ready to fire and throw. Good idea but it wasn’t going to be enough. There was an open area to their right, where the hallway and ruined apartments gave way to what had once been balconies. With railings. 

Deacon could use those to get around the mutant, and catch him in a cross-fire. And maybe...he checked his pockets. Yeah. The guard survivors below were firing again and screams and roars mixed in with the general noise level. 

Deacon leaned forward and spoke into Mac’s ear. “Give me about thirty seconds to get in position. Then unload with everything you’ve got.” 

MacCready stared at him, his face smudged with dirt and gunpowder, and shook his head. “No way,” he said. He grabbed Deacon’s arm. “We stick together.” 

No time to argue. He didn’t answer, but yanked free and triggered his stealth field. MacCready’s breath hissed out through his teeth. “Deacon! Get back here!” 

Deacon had already slipped away, out into the open area. Bullets whizzed by over his head and he ducked. Reached the exterior balcony, a half-ruined ledge barely holding onto the building. Distinct creaking when he stepped onto it. The rubble-filled ground looked unpleasantly hard and the railing more splintery than it had seemed from a distance. He took a deep breath before swinging one leg over it. Ten feet down. He’d totally survive a fall. 

_With broken legs_ , mental-Dez commented. _Sure you don’t want to take off?_

Shut up. He turned to face the building so he was on the outside edge of the balcony and started shuffling quickly along it, clinging to the railing with damp palms. Better than getting chopped up by a supermutant butcher for dinner. Tried to calm his hammering heart, counting off feet in his head. Twenty. Ten. Five. One. 

The apartment on the other side of the railing was almost completely demolished, with barely a stub of wall and a collapsed bed in one corner. The mutant was still firing indiscriminately, and the sound was off to his left. He was where he’d wanted to be, behind the enemy. The chattering roar of the mini-gun died, replaced with the boom of a hunting rifle. 

_Don't think it, Deacon_ , mental-Dez said. _Focus._ Sure, sure. The mutant was probably out of ammo and not say, shooting an injured MacCready in the head after cutting his legs out from under him with the mini. 

Whoosh! Rush of fire combined with the tinkle of glass breaking made him swallow in relief. First of the Molotovs, followed in quick succession by two more. The mutant roared again, but now it was tinged with pain. More rifle fire. Time to move. 

He climbed over the railing and half-crouching, darted into the hallway. Broad mutant back in front of him, about ten feet away, firing down the hall. He’d shed some sort of chest piece that was now on fire, along with a good-sized patch of carpet. Now Deacon saw why he was using the rifle—one arm hung limp and bloody. Couldn’t manage a mini with only one good arm. Flash of admiration. Damn, the kid was good. 

The mutant’s attention was firmly fixed in the other direction. Now! Deacon scrambled up behind him, pulled the grenade pin with his teeth and tucked it into the mutant’s waistband. 

The mutant jerked and then swung around, one beefy arm striking Deacon in the shoulder and knocking him sprawling. “What! You!” yelled the mutant. He brandished his rifle and fired blindly. Both shots went over Deacon’s head. Stealth field still on, he noted with relief. He crawled away, his shoulder aching from the impact. Three. Two. One. He flattened himself to the floor, and covered his ears, opened his mouth and closed his eyes. 

The grenade that he’d planted exploded, showering him with rubble and blood. The sound punched him as hard as a supermutant’s fist, leaving him dazed and crawling starfish-slow on the floor. His body ached, but he felt all in one piece. He blinked hard and shook his head. His leather armor had protected him from the worst of it. Motion behind him and he turned to see the mutant thrashing around. There were new holes in the walls and floor, letting in cold gray sunshine. The damn thing was down and minus a leg but still not completely dead. The massive head turned in Deacon’s direction, bloody teeth bared in a grimace. Struggled to raise his rifle, hate glaring in his eyes even as his life’s blood poured onto the floor. 

_He sees you!_ Deacon belatedly realized that the stealth field had expired and started to claw for his gun, desperately afraid that it was going to be too late, too late... MacCready materialized out of the swirling, choking dust with his rifle to his eye. Fired twice. 

The mutant’s head burst like an overripe melon and the body finally collapsed and stilled, rifle falling from nerveless fingers. Aaaand Deacon was not going to be able to enjoy melon for a while now, thanks MacCready. Not that melon was common right now, in the cold grey end of winter. Early spring, my ass. Just because the sun shone while it was thirty degrees didn’t make it _spring_. 

Deacon collapsed onto his back while the nonsense thoughts circled in his brain. The sounds of fighting downstairs had died away, leaving an exhausted quiet. He finally allowed himself to feel relief. They were both still alive to fight another day, yay. MacCready kicked the gun away from the mutant’s hand and rushed over to kneel down next to Deacon. Put a warm hand on his cheek. “Hey. Are you okay?” 

Deacon coughed and blinked up at him. “I’m all right...but uh. MacCready,” he said carefully. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

MacCready sat back on his heels and grinned at him. “I’m your backup.”


	2. I Tried To Be Chill But You're So Hot That I Melted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...

Deacon stared at him in disbelief. Tried to speak but was foiled by the ringing in his head. MacCready was already back on his feet, as cheerful as a lark, looting the ammo from the minigun and searching the nearby desk. The gunfire from below died down and lest he fear the worst, helmeted guards from Diamond City appeared at the far end of the hallway. They pointed and yelled, and MacCready hastily finished stuffing his pack and tied it. Deacon caught a glimpse of the late guard’s chest piece before he got it closed. Great. If the supermutants didn’t kill them, the guards might. 

One pulled off his helmet and ran over to them. Deacon recognized the light red hair and green eyes of Danny Sullivan. Nice enough kid. Deacon had taken him for a hundred caps one poker night. He clapped MacCready on the back. “RJ MacCready! I shoulda known it was you when I saw those head shots!” he exclaimed. 

MacCready smiled back. “Thanks, man. Looks like the rest of you got here in the nick of time.” He glanced back down the hall and shuffled his feet. “Sorry about, uh—” 

“Harry,” Danny filled in and sighed, solemn for a moment. “Well, you win some and lose some. How’s Blue doing? She with you?” 

“Nah, you know her. Always on the move. Scoping out that Brotherhood airship, last I heard.” 

“Well, I want to hear what brings you to the Jewel. Hey, I’m off shift soon. Why don’t I buy you a drink when we get back, and we can catch up?” 

_Well, they seem friendly_ , mental-Dez commented acidly. _Just how often does Blue bring him to Diamond City anyway?_ Deacon had been lying quiet and still, waiting to see how the encounter would go but he decided now was an opportune time to ‘wake up’. He coughed, twice, loudly and got up on one elbow, wheezing like he was two steps from Death’s door. 

They both looked over at him, MacCready’s face filled with concern, and Danny’s...less so. MacCready dropped his pack and came over to kneel next to him. “I thought you said you were all right,” he said, and pulled him to sit upright. “You need a stimpak?” 

MacCready never carried more than a few stimpaks when he was on his own, so his sudden generosity was probably due to looting from the dead guard, Deacon thought grumpily, caught between admiration and annoyance. He wasn’t even considering how pulling one of those out might affect their reception. “It’s not that bad. I’m just dizzy from the last explosion.” 

He tried to straighten and realized that his chest really did hurt, damn it, and suppressed a wince of pain. Then he glanced up and saw Danny staring at him, his gaze entirely too sharp for Deacon’s comfort. He looked from Deacon to MacCready and then snapped his fingers. “I remember you, I think. Trader, wasn’t it? Trader... Dave?” 

"Wow. You have an amazing memory," Deacon said, grinning, and hiding his annoyance. Deacon hadn’t really planned on locking himself into any particular name or persona, since this was just supposed to be a quick in and out. Get a lead to follow on his errant synth from Nick or Arturo. Now he had to adjust his plans...again. It wasn’t a disaster. Trader Dave wasn’t a bad person to be, per se. It was just... 

Deacon took a deep breath and there was a spasm in his chest that made his breath catch in his throat. MacCready heard it and his arm tightened around him. MacCready was half-supporting his weight and leaning against his body was awfully warm and familiar and comforting... 

Danny was still staring and Deacon suddenly remembered leaving Diamond City in the middle of the night after a one-stand went spectacularly wrong. Shirt half-unbuttoned, in a ferociously bad mood and looking obviously like someone kicked out of bed. And the guard at the gate had been...Danny Sullivan. Deacon groaned internally. Trader Dave and MacCready had a _history._ Of being barely on speaking terms after a, a _messy_ encounter. Damn. He’d known that exit was likely to come back and haunt him. 

He’d stayed far away from the guards after that experience, hoping to give them time to forget. When he’d had to wait for Blue outside, _thanks MacCready_ , he’d tucked himself into a dark corner of the old concession stand, where guards normally didn’t go, and none of them had noticed him all night long. 

Looked like he hadn’t stayed away long enough. _If you hadn’t felt compelled to jump in and fight with MacCready, you’d be inside already, with no one noticing you_ , Dez commented, cementing her position as the unpleasant truth-teller of Deacon’s psyche. 

Danny said, obviously fishing, “So how’d you two end up getting caught in this mess, huh?” 

_Because Sir is in love with Mister MacCready!_ Brit-butler chimed in and okay, fine, that was truth, he could face the truth, he had been for a while, but now was not the time to admit it. All right. He could do this. He’d been a ghoul, a girl, even a goddamn wandering zealot, for god’s sake, so he could definitely be Trader Dave. Again. 

MacCready started to speak and Deacon felt immediate concern. He elbowed him in the ribs and smiled at Danny, spoke in Dave’s accent. “Me? I’m makin’ my rounds, buying, sellin’. Traders gotta trade, am I right? Otherwise, we’d be, uh, travelers or something, not traders, anyway.” 

MacCready gave him a quick look and frowned. “Saw a fight, jumped in,” he said to Danny, with admirable brevity. Deacon could work with that. They were...casual acquaintances who’ve put the past behind them. 

He interrupted before Danny could ask any follow-up questions, making a smooth switch to another subject that wasn’t about him... _them_. “So, speaking of buying and selling. Didja know that Covenant’s opened up recently?” 

Danny looked momentarily diverted. “Really? Heard some good and bad about that place.” 

Trader Dave was happy to expand further and maybe brag a little. “They’re a little weird, but if you can get past their crazy synth test it’s worth it. And very happy to see a new face.” He dropped a wink, gave the words a smidge of innuendo. 

Danny laughed. “Ah, right on!” 

MacCready jerked away abruptly and Deacon glanced over at him, mouth still going on auto-pilot, and most of his attention on Danny’s reaction. “Yeah, it’s definitely gonna be a regular stop for me from now on. But a gentleman doesn’t reveal all his—” 

“What?” MacCready’s sharp tone penetrated Deacon’s focus. “What are you _talking_ about?” 

MacCready’s eyes narrowed and his lips were a thin line of disapproval. And Deacon belatedly remembered that Robert might not have any idea why he was in Diamond City, much less that he’d need a cover. 

He took his hand and smiled easily. “Crud, you’re right. I’m being rude. Trader habits, hard to break, y’know, since _I’m a trader_. Trader _Dave_ , that’s me,” laying emphasis on the last few words. 

Danny cocked his head and looked slightly puzzled. There was a short pause that Deacon felt tick by agonizingly on every inch of his skin. 

Then MacCready laughed shortly and his hand tightened on Deacon’s. “Right, _sure_. But since when have you been to Covenant, De—um, uh, Dave?” The words had an audible edge, and Deacon sighed to himself. Actor, Robert was not. 

Danny looked at them curiously. “So, are you two, uh, here together?” 

“Nope,” Deacon said. 

“Yeah,” MacCready snapped. 

_“No,”_ Deacon said emphatically. 

Danny looked confused and Deacon fumbled around for something to say. His mind latched onto _bodyguard_ and he opened his mouth to say, _Well, I hired him, you know, a trader sometimes needs a little extra firepower_ , when he caught MacCready’s face out of the corner of his eye. MacCready was staring at him, with his fucking heart in his eyes and basically not acting at all like hired help. And kneeling too close, and still holding Deacon’s hand. On top of all that, Deacon was flustered enough to not be entirely sure how his own body language was reading. 

Deacon’s mind stuck fast for a few instants and MacCready’s face went from angry to thoughtful. Then he said “Ahh, we just needed a few days off, Danny.” 

Danny raised his eyebrows. “Oh, okay,” he said, clearly wondering what that meant. As was Deacon, actually. 

Don’t panic. Brief silence while Deacon contemplated any way to interpret that statement in a way that did not associate him much more closely with MacCready—and Blue—in a way that he had so far managed to avoid. No need to panic. If Trader Dave was known to be ...friendly with Blue’s group, that wasn’t necessarily the end of the world. 

Danny looked away from then, and waved to the guards down the hall. They had gotten their deceased co-worker wrapped up and now lifted him up and headed their way. Time to wrap this conversation up, because they were about to get company. 

_If you contradict him again, you might as well write ‘I’m a suspicious character, watch me’ on your forehead_ , mental-Dez said warningly. _Then you’d get a lot of extra attention._

Right. Being a known, er...associate was less suspect. Friend. Nope, casual hookups who’ve put the past behind them. And given Blue’s wide-ranging wanderings across the ‘Wealth, it wasn’t unbelievable that they had reconnected at some point. He took MacCready’s hand in both of his and smiled at him. “You know I was joking about Covenant, right? Love it when you’re jealous.” 

MacCready looked mollified and smiled back, sending a rush of warmth over Deacon. His fine acting was wasted though, because Danny apparently missed it, talking to one of guards that joined them and pointing back toward Diamond City. They all started toward a mostly-intact staircase to their right. 

Danny put his helmet back on and gestured to them. “We’re heading back. It’ll be safer if you follow us in. And Mac, hey, maybe I’ll see you around. I’d still like to catch up.” 

That last was more blatant fishing for information.... Notably directed at MacCready. Deacon bristled. 

Mental-Dez sighed. _Apparently, you were opaquer than you intended,_ she reminded him. _Otherwise, he wouldn’t be fishing. You should probably do something about that._

That wasn’t his fault, darn it. He’d only had to re-adjust two or three times now. 

"Yeah, sure," MacCready answered Danny, while he helped Deacon to his feet and gathered up both their packs. He didn’t seem to find anything unusual in what Danny had said. Deacon ground his teeth. He wasn't sure how MacCready managed to be such a good shot when his observation skills were so shitty. He took his pack from him and then grabbed his arm to lean in closer and kissed him. Caught a glimpse of surprise in the other man’s expression. 

Then he was savoring the contact, the dry, almost-chaste brush across his mouth, MacCready’s tiny intake of breath that parted his lips beneath Deacon’s. His hand tightened on MacCready’s arm and he started to move closer and only then remembered the point and um... Where they were. 

He pulled away and gave Danny a smug smile. "On second thought, I doubt Mac'll have any free time, sorry, Danny." 

MacCready and Deacon fell in with the group of guards, while Danny walked next to them, cradling his rifle and glancing their way out of the corners of his eyes every now and then. 

_I’m sure you realize that was all Deacon and zero Dave_ , mental-Dez said drily. 

Humph. Danny Sullivan wouldn’t know the difference. But just in case, he grabbed MacCready’s arm and shoved past the others till they were in the front of the group and away from Danny. They both stayed quiet until they were passing through the main gate of the City. Most of the other guards peeled off at the gate, including Danny. The others made a beeline for the barracks once they were on the main ramp down. 

When they were all out of earshot, MacCready pulled his arm loose and turned to face Deacon. "What was all that? Why did you say we weren’t together?" He gave Deacon's chest a little push of annoyance. He was standing close enough that Deacon could see the clear blue of his eyes and the faint line of stubble on his cheek where he'd shaved around his lame excuse for a beard. His lips were pale and chapped from the wind. Deacon wanted to put his arms around him and kiss him again. In _private_. 

Deacon glanced around, thankful for the sunglasses that made it look like he was still focused on MacCready. "Practically everyone in Diamond City can see us standing here and now you want to talk? Are you crazy?" 

MacCready looked momentarily confused and then his expression hardened. "What was that about Trader Dave?" 

He whispered between smiling, clenched teeth, “Um, a cover to hide the truth. Which remember? Starts with an ‘S’, ends with a ‘Y’?” He resumed walking down the stairs and stopped when MacCready stayed where he was, staring down. "You're making this conversation look way too interesting to the average resident," he hissed. 

MacCready grumbled under his breath but finally came to join him and they walked the rest of the way. The market was busy with shoppers, loiterers, kids running and Diamond City security pacing. Over the racket, they could hear Mo calling, "Better get a Swatter!" 

Deacon picked their way through the crowd, wondering about the perennial Diamond City question. Who was watching, and what did they want? The biggest settlement in the Commonwealth never lacked for eyes. The guards reported to the Mayor, who was widely suspected to report to the Institute. The Railroad had Arturo and occasionally, Nick. Plenty of folks owed Piper and sent her tips. Then there were the thieves and con men, out for a score. Triggermen. Gunners. He’d originally planned on heading to straight to Nick’s in his customary roundabout and unobtrusive fashion, but that plan had been blown to hell, considering mutants, delay and overly-observant guards. 

_Look at the worst-case scenario, Deacon_ , mental-Dez said. Right. Not like he’d taught her that himself or anything. It took a big man to tolerate being told what to do by someone both younger and with less seniority. 

Mental-Dez rolled her eyes, as her real-world counterpart usually did when he happened to mention those fun times in training. _It’s your own mental voice, Deacon. So in reality, it’s you, hiding behind a simulacra of Desdemona, giving yourself advice. The kicker is that you may or may not listen to it._

Cold tickled the back of his neck. Well. Put that way, the habit was a lot less quirky and charming. He pushed the unsettling thought away and considered the question posed by Des, British-butler, et al: He and MacCready were already gossip at this point, because MacCready—damn good shot, friendly with Vadim and connected to Blue—was known in Diamond City. That meant Trader Dave was about to become known, too. 

It was an uncomfortable feeling. Normally, he _wasn’t_ talked about. Gossip was anathema to Deacon. He was already imagining good ol’ Danny Sullivan talking about the trader in town and wondering about his thing with MacCready and/or Blue. 

If they were casual, when-in-town hookups, then Trader Dave had some making up to do, after that comment about Covenant. They should get some food and probably head for Vadim’s. Spend the night and then tomorrow he could slip out, get his information and then get back to chasing his missing synth. That was a common-enough, if sleazy occurrence so it shouldn’t be that interesting. Just another one-night stand. 

Leaving MacCready behind. He felt a pang at that, but pushed it down firmly. It was for the best. Mac didn’t need to get involved in Railroad business and he couldn’t act worth a damn, anyway. 

_Pal, who are you trying to convince?_ And this interior voice is more like, uh, his own, sorta like the mask momentarily slipped off and let him see behind the curtains. He was a little startled. Since when did he talk to himself? Look in that mirror? 

_Enough_ , mental-Dez said firmly. _Have a breakdown on your own time_. 

Right. Back to being the best S-P-Y that he could be. He’d been casting quick glances around and behind them as they walked and nothing seemed out of place. They could get some noodles and nip over to the Dugout. Quick scramble inside. It was early enough in the evening that business should be slow and with any luck, they’d be tucked into the back room before another ten minutes had passed. And then... Deacon felt a warm frisson of anticipation. Well, they’d have to find some way to pass the time, wouldn’t they? 

Before he did that, though, one last thorough look. He slowed his stride and deliberately stepped on a loose bit of rubble that made him stumble sideways and bump into a passerby. Half-turned to face her as he mumbled an apology, and then turned fully to watch as she walked off. 

Someone on the far edge of the crowd ducked their head hastily to avoid his gaze and fumbled with a pouch on their belt. It was an obvious bit of clumsy misdirection, something that Deacon himself might have done as a baby spy, shadowing someone for the first time. Deacon stared and their head stayed down, and then they did a half-ass double take, and bent over to scrabble at something on the ground. Deacon wrenched his gaze away and put his arm around Mac’s shoulder, pulling him closer. In his peripheral vison, the other immediately straightened up and stared right at them. 

_Well, crap._


	3. I Can't Help Myself, I Love You And Nobody Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crud, I had a severe outbreak of Real Lifeitis, but I'm better and back again! :)

Rookie mistake. If they’d kept a blank shopper’s look on their face and stayed still when he’d first looked at them, he probably would not have noticed a thing. 

He shivered and pulled his jacket closed. MacCready said, “You cold?” 

“Yeah, but uh, I can’t get this zipper.” MacCready obligingly moved closer and started fussing with his zipper, trying to get the ragged ends mated together. 

Deacon ducked his head, like he was watching the other man’s hands. He wasn’t. Across the square, the watcher looked at them intently. He doubted it was to check out MacCready’s cute ass. Good, great, awesome. This was turning into a cluster-fuck. 

Once MacCready got his jacket zipped, he slung his arm back over MacCready's shoulders and turned them both to face the noodle stand. Could see the person’s outline in his peripheral vision, heavily hooded and cloaked. Full pack to distort the lines of their shoulders and neck and general posture. Not bad. The edges of a ratty black coat showed underneath the cloak and the boots... Interesting. There were black and very worn but oddly smooth, with no visible fastening or laces. He’d think galoshes, but they were too form-fitting for that. He quickly committed them to memory. He’d see if Mister Looky-loo was smart enough to alter his footwear, or if covering his face was the extent of his experience. The general sum didn’t add up to anyone that he was familiar with in Diamond City. 

“See what flavor is on tonight, would you?” he asked casually. Then whispered, “Trouble. Maybe.” 

MacCready shot him a quick look and then did as he asked. Deacon took the opportunity to take a couple of steps back and slide one right, putting a tall guy with a lot of tattoos square in the line-of-sight between him and Hoodie. He crouched down and fiddled with his sneaker, untying and retying the white lacing. He could see Hoodie’s back from here and nothing else. 

Hoodie’s shoulders were relaxed and unmoving, so he didn’t appear to notice that he had lost sight of Deacon. Instead, he stayed faced forward, presumably watching MaCready as he moved up to the counter and chatted with one of the other customers. Only after that did he see tension, followed by a quick turn and step back, with an unobtrusive sweep that relocated him, just as MacCready returned to his side. 

That quick and smooth readjustment had all of Deacon’s alarms going off. Shit. _Shit._ “Brahmin broth,” MacCready reported obediently and held out his hand to help Deacon up. 

"I’m tired of that. Come on,” he grabbed MacCready's hand and pulled him through the crowd to one of the side streets that circled around the market. It was quieter, but the guard at third base could still see down it easily enough. He dropped his hand, pushed MacCready back against the wall, and moved close, planting his hands on the wall at MacCready's shoulders so he was effectively encircled. "Someone's watching us," he breathed, leaning close and then nuzzling his lips against his ear. It would look like a kiss to a watcher. "I wasn’t followed, what about you?" 

Flicker of motion in the corner of his eye and he moved in quickly and kissed him. Dropped one hand to MacCready's hip and encountered the ballistic fiber waist band of his combat armor with MacCready’s typical assortment of pouches, bags and ammunition. Okay, that might make things slightly difficult. But nothing sells body language like real emotion, so he closed his eyes and kissed MacCready intently, coaxing his mouth open, nipping at his bottom lip, alternate routes and plans spinning merrily in his head. Danny singling him out as Trader Dave was looking downright prophetic. Someone asking might think this was an occasional friendly hook up and nothing more. He tilted his head to shove his tongue into MacCready's mouth, and slitted one eye open. Yeah, creepy watcher, check. Attempting to look casually at the street sign while sending little glances this way. 

Which one of them was he watching? Well, Deacon was sure no one had been following him through the city ruins. Even if someone was watching HQ (an illogical assumption, because if someone was watching HQ, it was probably the Institute or the Brotherhood, and they wouldn’t just be _watching_ , capiche?) there wasn’t any way a watcher could have known that his destination was Diamond City. 

So that left MacCready. Which seemed like a pretty fair assumption. He wasn’t really...stealthy--Deacon suppressed a smile. Plus, he was known as one of Blue's friends and her palling around with Brotherhood and the Minutemen made her probably the most famous person around right now. 

MacCready shifted and wrapped his arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. Deacon realized that Mr. Happy was hard and the flush of warmth across his body was derailing his thoughts from murderous subgroups plotting to kill them to beds and private rooms. Which....crap. Not Vadim's, not with a tail already on them, especially not when Vadim was so damn mouthy. It was an unacceptable risk. The transients' quarters were anything but private. Nick's place, Piper’s...also lacked privacy. 

He broke the kiss but kept their faces close enough to hide their expression from a casual glance. Quick look sideways. The watcher was no longer visible but Deacon wouldn't like to lay odds that he wasn't somewhere close by, waiting for them to break the clinch and move. MacCready opened his eyes and looked at him, his pupils wide and dark. "Who is it?" He murmured. His lips were slightly swollen. 

Deacon couldn’t resist pressing against him, despite the numerous hard corners digging into his thighs. Stupid armor needed to be _off._ The thought brought a sharp spike of arousal. Then he whispered, "I don't recognize them. And no one knew where I—wait, how did you know I was headed to Diamond City?" 

MacCready's breath caught when Deacon moved against him again. "Um, from Desdemona, Blue and I were at HQ and she told us. Blue was busy so she told me to run backup." 

Deacon kissed the corner of his mouth and then over to the soft skin of his neck, and the place under his ear that made him make a noise in the back of his throat. "And you agreed?" 

MacCready's hands tightened on the back of his neck, pulling him down and closer. His whisper showed a hint of strain when he spoke, "Heck, yeah, I agreed. Besides, you know Blue, she wasn't giving me a choice." 

Deacon lifted his head and looked at him. MacCready's eyes were bright and he was staring at Deacon with undisguised want. Deacon's heart picked up its pace just from the sight, and imagining him spread out on a bed, armor off, clothing loose, voice husky with need... He caught his breath and cleared his throat. 

"Well, I’m giving you a choice," Deacon told him, keeping his tone soft. "This is Railroad stuff. You don’t have to get involved at all, just lay low at Vadim’s for a couple of days until I handle it." 

MacCready shook his head. "No way, man. Besides," he paused as the corners of his lips turned up, "I have the keys to Home Plate." 

Well, that answered the question of room and privacy quite nicely. Deacon smiled at him. "Have I told you you’re awesome? No? You’re awesome and let's go." 

MacCready cut his eyes sideways. "What about him?" 

Deacon reached down between them and felt along the edge of the leg plates of his armor, until he reached his groin and even through leathers and ballistic fiber there was something nice and hard. He stroked until MacCready's head tipped back against the wall and his breathing speeded up. Then he removed his hand and watched his eyes fly open, before leaning close and whispering, "When I make you come, yell Dave really loudly." He pulled away and gave him a grin. "It'll be fine." 

Took his hand and began pulling him down the street. They'd pass Nick's on the way, but he couldn't ask about a package with the watcher...watching.... Not till he came up with some ideas to throw him off. Maybe tie him up watching MacCready, while Deacon checked on his missing synth. Putting Mac with Nick was actually a good idea, for safety’s sake. Blue had ruffled a few feathers here and there. He couldn’t discount the possibility that someone wasn’t looking to rid her of a companion, for revenge or some other crazy reason. 

Nick’s door went by on their left and MacCready looked at him but didn’t say anything, which was a bit of subtlety that he welcomed but hadn’t expected. Sound travelled surprisingly well down these narrow streets. One reason why he wasn’t too concerned about being attacked in broad daylight with half of Diamond City’s guards within earshot. Diamond City, like it or loathe it, was generally pretty safe. He was probably overthinking. MacCready would be fine. Any killer worth his salt would have taken Mac out during the mutant attack. 

_Well, but you showed up, Deacon,_ mental-Dez said. 

Deacon felt a quiver of unease. Simple minds would assume that killing one of her friends might send Blue into a tailspin of grief, take her out of the game for a while. But Deacon knew that someone making threats would be the quickest way to get on Blue’s ‘kill’ list—which totally was an actual list, he’d caught a glimpse of it on her Pip-boy once. Just in case, he resolved that the other man wasn’t leaving his sight until he was sure that things were safe. 

But speaking of, Blue's place was as objectively safe as they were likely to get _and_ well-equipped. He wrapped one arm around MacCready and pulled him closer, risking a quick glance around. Still no one in sight. He lifted MacCready's hand and kissed the palm. "This isn't the first time you and Trader Dave have hooked up," he reminded him. 

MacCready looked briefly annoyed at that. "Right. I almost forgot. I guess we’re both just playing a role, then, aren't we, De—Dave." 

Deacon wanted to kiss the petulance off his mouth but even better would be getting behind closed doors so he could do that while also undressing him. He quickened his pace until they got to the back door, the quieter one that wasn't right on the madness of the market. MacCready pulled a key out of a pocket to unlock the door and Deacon leaned over to kiss the back of his neck, taking a quick glance up and down the street as he did so. Ah, there was their watcher, looking a little put out—at either the display or the prospect of having his target off the street for the rest of the night. Deacon knew this frustration well. It would likely be a long boring night for the other person. 

Once they got inside, MacCready re-locked the door and Deacon double-checked for good measure. Then they went around to the front and did the same. Deacon even went upstairs to check the hatch by the bathroom that led outside. No windows and no one was likely to break in, not with Diamond City security doing rounds mere steps away. As annoying as they were sometimes, Deacon was glad of them tonight. 

When he went downstairs, MacCready had shed the bloody combat armor and was in the kitchen. He had the frig open and was rummaging around inside. He pulled out two beers and looked at Deacon over the door. 

"You're letting all the cold out," Deacon said, and closed the door. Then he plucked one of the beers from MacCready's hand and opened it. Took a sip and regarded the other man curiously. "So..." He prompted. 

MacCready leaned back against one of the wooden supports that held up the second story. "So... Tell me, Dave, how have you been? Doing much trading?" 

Deacon stared at him for a moment and then grinned, the easy, man-of-the-world expression that he'd adopted for the trader. He stood up straighter and shifted his weight onto his back foot, his drawl more exaggerated. "Some. A little wandering, a little sight-seeing. And a little trading. You?" 

"Left the Gunners. Got hired by this crazy vaultie, the Sole Survivor some people call her." MacCready popped off the top of his beer and wandered over to the couch and sat down. "She's got some weird friends." 

"Everybody's weird in the Commonwealth, MacCready," Dea—uh, Dave advised. "It's all just a matter of degree." He gestured to himself. "Why, take me for example. Got caught in a bona-fide blizzard a while back and went up to this nice-looking house for shelter. Okay, says the old guy. But you’ll have to share a bed with my daughter and no funny business.” 

Deacon gestured expansively. “Sure thing, said I. No problem, said she. She put a pillow down the center of the bed and I stayed on my side, good’n’proper. Next morning, I saw her out in the barnyard and she was so pretty. I said thank you, miss, I’m sure tempted to come over there and give you a kiss. She says, Yeah, right. You’d climb over a fence when you can’t climb over a pillow?” 

MacCready’s lips twitched and then he laughed. “Yeah? That reminds me. I got stuck in a blizzard too, once but when I asked for shelter, the guy said, Well, I don’t have any daughters like in the joke.” He shrugged and took a sip of beer. “I said, how far to the next house?” 

Deacon walked over to the couch and sat down on it. Their knees bumped. “That reminds me of another time. Blizzard, farm, asked for shelter. He says, Well, you’ll have to share a bed with my three handsome sons. I said, Crap, I’m in the wrong joke!” 

He gave MacCready a sideways glance. “I had to get back to Diamond City and see the doctor. Because someone around here is like a post-apocalyptic parasitic organism, and seriously getting under my skin.” 

MacCready cocked his head. "Really? I met a guy in Diamond City once. Cute. He was like food poisoning, putting knots in my stomach." 

"He has this annoying habit—" Deacon began, and MacCready interrupted. 

"Just one? Amazing, because I've got, like a whole list in my head!" 

Deacon laughed out loud and leaned into MacCready until he could kiss his neck again. "I know you've got a list. Here I am, what were the other two wishes?" 

"Charming and handsome but I guess that's not happening," MacCready answered, with a little short intake of breath when Deacon nipped at his earlobe. "So is it hot in here, or is it just you?" 

"Aww, no, it's you crashing and burning," Deacon said. "Why don't we get drunk and make some bad decisions?" 

MacCready huffed a little laugh, and said, "You already are and you just did." Then he reached up and started unbuttoning Deacon’s shirt. "This is nice but it’ll look better on my floor." He slid it off Deacon’s shoulders and tossed it; it fluttered to the floor and ended half-draped over the ottoman. 

Deacon’s mouth kept talking, no input from brain needed and said, "Thanks but it’ll be on my back as I'm walking away." 

_Oops, wait a minute._

There was a half-beat where MacCready just looked at him and the smile on Deacon’s face died. British-butler made a scolding sound. _Not the most tactful comment for Sir to make._

Deacon tried to recover and said hastily, "Babe, you look like my next boyfriend." The words, playfully spoken, fell like lead into the silence. 

MacCready shook his head and sat up. "Really? You mean that? Is that Dave talking, or Deacon?” He leaned forward to set his empty beer bottle on the side table, using the motion to put a handspan of distance between them. 

"Hey," Deacon dropped Dave’s mannerisms all at once and took his arm. Tried to put as much sincerity as he could into his tone, with his best patented hangdog look. "I thought we got this sorted out at Goodneighbor." 

"Well, excuse me, Deacon, or Dave. Are we acting now, or is this real or what? I don’t know. Except that you know that I’m not acting.” He lifted his hands briefly in frustration. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to call you.” 

Deacon thought, Call me _Deacon._ And hated himself a little for how needy he sounded, even in his own head. He wasn’t sure how their joking around had led to this tension, and jesus, he hadn’t meant anything serious... 

_Sir doesn’t want to consider that that might not be the most pleasant of memories for Mister MacCready?_ Brit-butler asked, sounding even more stuck up than usual. No, he didn’t, actually, thanks and fuck you. He could feel anger gathering underneath his skin, ready to blot out the feelings of uncertainty and insecurity. Time to disengage. 

Deacon said lightly, "I don’t want to fight. We’re both tired, let’s just take it easy, okay?" _You can leave tomorrow if you want to,_ was what he wanted to add but his throat got tight and he was afraid that he couldn't sell it reliably. 

MacCready hesitated, looking at him while Deacon stared down at the floor. He wasn’t sure what his face was trying to do and he didn’t want to upset Robert any more than he already had. 

The other man sighed and stood up. "Look. You’re right, I’m wiped. Let’s—we'll talk in the morning." Deacon nodded and MacCready finally walked off. Deacon heard him rummaging around in the other room and he returned sipping some soup from a mug. "You want anything?" 

Deacon forced himself to smile casually. "Thanks, but I'm fine." Then he glanced up the stairs. There was only one bed at Home Plate. "You take the bed. I'm comfortable right here." He patted the long couch. 

MacCready rinsed out the mug and then went up the stairs. Deacon heard him shifting around, dropping his pack on the floor and washing up before climbing into the bed. Carefully tried not to remember the last time that he'd seen MacCready in a real bed (Jamaica Plains) and how that had turned out (Mercer Safehouse). 

He wasn’t sure how this had happened, sleeping alone and lonely on a couch instead of upstairs with. .. He stomped on that train of thought relentlessly. He turned over restlessly and then decided to get up and explore.


	4. Nothing's Going To Stop Me But Divine Intervention

Home Base was a hoarder’s paradise. Countless boxes and cans in the kitchen, beer and purified water plus some eggs and salted meat in the fridge. Razorgrain bread, a little moldy around the edges but still edible. Deacon made himself a sandwich, moving quietly. Despite that, he wondered if MacCready would hear him and get up. 

No such luck. Everything upstairs had gone quiet and still before he finished it. He wiped off the knife he’d used and put it back in the rack. Then he shucked off his leather armor and gave it a quick wipe down. His pack was woefully empty of sleepwear—not something he usually bothered with on the road. He did a quick washup at the sink and then went through the promising-looking chest wedged into a corner. 

Bingo! This must be where Blue kept the extras that she intended to sell or use for scraps. He found an old-fashioned robe made of some soft synthetic material and was immediately enchanted. Tattered brown slippers. Instant dad-ness, old man-ish, it was awesome. This, plus a mug and he could probably walk through any settlement in the world without getting any reaction other than, _look at the old coot_. He unsnapped the jacket of his road leathers and pulled off the pants. Yeah, robe, tee and boxers. It was perfect. He tied the belt carefully and then shook his fist at some (imaginary) teenage hoodlums. _Stay out of my garden!_

It was obvious that Blue did not appreciate this fine bit of Pre-war sleepwear. He should take it off her hands. He looked around speculatively. What other treasures was she hiding? An hour later, he’d found the gun and ammo stash, the chems in the bread box (eww), extra armor, caps in a coffee tin tucked into the back of a kitchen cabinet and the floor safe hidden underneath the workbench. 

It was a tricky bit of lockpicking but he managed. Wow. Now _that_ was a sizeable number of caps. All in little rag-wrapped bundles for easy counting. Let’s see. He was sure that Blue would not mind making him a small loan of caps, given the situation. He hefted two hundred-cap bundles thoughtfully and then took one more. That should do it. 

There were also extra blankets on top of the chest and for once, he blessed Blue and her obsession with bedding. Wrapped up in one, used the other as a pillow and settled back down on the sofa. Cool clothing, mysterious enemy, plenty of caps in his pocket—he should objectively be happy as hell, right now. He turned over and punched the couch cushions into submission. 

_Why aren’t you happy, Deacon?_ Mental-Dez asked. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. A minor disagreement, a squabble, a—a tiff. Nothing important could be described with only four letters. 

A counter example immediately leaped to mind, but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. It wasn’t like MacCready was going to wake up tomorrow, storm out and never see him again. Right? 

But what if he did? Plan B. Fuck. His mind slipped over into a well-worn groove, honed by years of practice. The _what-if_ and _now-what_ problem. Just because the problem was feelings and ooey-gooey emotions instead of which route the synth raiding party would take didn’t mean it wasn’t solvable. He’d apologize in the morning and if the problem was his persona, then goodbye persona. If it was something else, then he’d fix it. He was Deacon, chameleon Railroad agent. Of course, he could fix it. 

He felt better but still lay awake for a long time before sleep. 

A clicking sound jerked him to full wakefulness and before he was fully aware, he sat up and looked around. Home Plate. Still pitch black except for the faint glow of some power cells in the charger. His time sense informed him that he’d been asleep for a couple of hours, tops. About midnight then. Faint scratching noise, clearly coming from the door. He glanced over and saw the doorknob begin to turn before being prevented by the lock. 

Someone—the watcher, he'd bet—was trying to pick Blue's lock. He got up and moved soundlessly to the door. He’d taken off his cool robe earlier so he was in a tee and boxers and trying to feel confident instead of vulnerable. There was a baseball bat propped in one corner. _Good thinking, Blue._ A trader wouldn’t be carrying a modded-out and expensive stealth weapon like Deliverer, he thought, already planning how he would explain some minor mayhem. Get the drop on them, make some noise, slam the door and re-lock it. He didn’t imagine it would take much more than that to alert the guards. He picked the bat up and hefted it experimentally. Weighted and well balanced. It would do quite nicely. The lock clicked open and he tensed, flattening himself against the wall. 

The door knob began to turn stealthily, half-way, three-quarters, stopped and then it slipped back to its original position. Deacon waited for it to open, his weight forward and knees bent, but nothing else happened. Furtive footsteps moved away from the door. He waited but there were no more sounds. Odd. He touched the door handle lightly and confirmed that it was now unlocked. Why go to the trouble of picking it if you weren't going to open it? 

More noises. Had their watcher gone to get a confederate? The numbers might be against him, then, but he’d still bet that he could take them by surprise. Enough for it to matter, anyway. Steps approaching Blue’s door—firm heavy footsteps. Deacon listened uneasily, thinking that there was precious little attempt to disguise them. 

Wait, wait. He was aware of a dissatisfied sensation in his head. Something felt— _heard_ familiar. Think this through. If Deacon was picking a lock and left without opening it, then he would be doing it to save time later or maybe as a distraction.... The familiarity abruptly slipped into place. 

The knob began to turn as he set the baseball bat down and backed away from the door. Saw the blankets on the couch and snatched them up. His pack was in the kitchen and out of sight. The doorknob unlatched with a sharp _click!_ He eased around the corner as it swung open, revealing one of Diamond City’s security guards in the doorway. 

Well. Someone had nearly rushed him into attacking a security guard. Deacon gave them a mental salute. Pretty good play. He doubted it would be their only one. He hustled up the stairs as quickly and as quietly as he could. He had to get out of sight, and be a respectable trader again. And there was only one bed at Home Plate, so... 

MacCready was just stirring, blinking at him sleepily. "Wuzzat?" Deacon yanked off his shirt and pulled the blanket back and hopped into bed with him. 

Back of his mind appreciation for MacCready in a snug pair of shorts that showed off his thighs. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it up over them as MacCready started to speak, "Dea—" 

"Shhh," Deacon said. He ducked his head down into the junction of MacCready's shoulder and neck and whispered, "Someone called security on us." 

Downstairs, the guard called, "Hello?" A beam of light flashed across the ceiling from his flashlight. 

“What?” MacCready tensed and started to sit up but Deacon tightened his arm around him. 

"Wait." 

Heavy footsteps on the stairs and then the light flashed directly on them. MacCready blinked and put a hand up, palm outward and Deacon grumbled and pressed his face against the back of MacCready's neck, so the guard wouldn't get a clear look at him. They should present an innocent enough picture—bare shoulders clearly visible, lying curled closely together. 

The flashlight beam lowered enough that it wasn't shining directly in their eyes. "Sorry," the guard said, actually not sounding sorry at all. It was a guard that Deacon didn't recognize, so maybe new? That could be a problem. 

MacCready lowered his hand and said, "What the heck, man?" 

The guard glanced around and then looked embarrassed. "Oh. Haven't I seen you with Blue before? Sorry, we got a report that someone had broken into the place, and we had to check it out. You got permission to be here?" 

MacCready sounded annoyed, bless him. "No, not at all. I've only got the literal keys, plus been following Blue around and carrying her crap for months now." He reached down to his pack and fumbled around a bit, before pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Here." 

The guard unfolded it and shone the flashlight on it, lips moving silently as he read. MacCready looked relaxed but Deacon could feel the tension in him. He moved his head experimentally on the pillow. Yep. Gun hidden under there, probably Mac's little holdout weapon. He shifted his arm to pin MacCready tighter. Nothing good would come of getting in a shooting match with Diamond City security. 

The guard re-folded the paper and looked sheepish. "Uh. Sorry, I guess? And ah...congratulations." He handed it back to MacCready and started backing down the stairs. "I'll uh...lock up on my way out. Good night!" 

Deacon began to get a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. MacCready got up on one elbow and watched as the guy left, with a loud and over-exaggerated slam of the door. "Okay, thanks. But weird." 

Deacon mentally ticked off the life events that warranted 'congratulations' from random acquaintances and the bad feeling got worse. "Let me see that note." 

MacCready glanced down at his hand as if surprised to see it there. "Sure, here," he said, handing it back. "Want some light?" He stretched and put on the lamp on the table next to the bed. Part of Deacon was getting very distracted at having a warm, sleepy-smelling MacCready that was nearly naked pressed so close to him. Especially when he did things like lean forward, which pushed his ass against Deacon's groin. 

But even that was secondary to what was written on the paper. In Blue's neat Pre-war writing: **RJ MacCready will be occupying Home Plate for an unspecified period of time with my blessing, accompanied by his husband, for his honeymoon. Please extend the same courtesy to him that you would to me, thank you, blah, blah, et cetera.**

_Well, crap._ He didn't realize that he'd said it aloud until MacCready looked over at him. "What? It can't be that bad, the guard didn't kick us out?" 

He handed it over silently and watched MacCready read it. His face was an interesting study. First, narrowed eyes while he concentrated on the words, then his eyebrows went up and his lips parted, then pursed. His fingers twitched briefly on the paper, making it crinkle. Then a pause and his face smoothed out, hiding whatever emotion he felt behind a bland surface. He really wasn't that good at it, though, because Deacon can still see the tension in his body, heck, he can feel it from where he's lying next to him. 

"You didn't bother reading that when she wrote it for you?" Deacon asked, feeling a bit of exasperation. 

"Uh, no." MacCready replaced the note in his pack and lay back down, his body a warm line against Deacon's. "You think it’s some kind of joke?" He frowned up at the ceiling. “My luck, it’s a trap.” 

Deacon didn't answer, because the majority of his mind was considering how he was supposed to track down the missing package if he was playing the role of besotted newlywed, and as a side order, how he would manage to act that without slipping up and showing —whatever. Don't think about that. Wait. He _had_ to. Christ, what a cluster fuck. 

_Sir is in, how should we say it? Sir is in deep shit,_ Brit-butler announced. _Sir should begin creating an exit strategy immediately_. 

He couldn't do that. Well, he could. Their watcher might be clever but there was no one better than him. And that wasn’t braggadocio. He could get himself and MacCready out of Diamond City right now, if he wanted to, and lose the watcher past any chance of catch-up. He’d have to forget the best lead on his missing synth, though. 

The synth had first appeared three days ago. He followed the standard route and contacted a tourist near Oberland. He’d gotten some supplies and directions to Bunker Hill. But then he’d been spotted here—just outside of Diamond City, which was definitely not where he was supposed to be. They didn’t know if he’d gotten bad intel or was being lured by someone else... (Institute? That would be a change to their usual game plan. So far there was no hint of a courser, thank god.) 

MacCready shifted and looked at him and Deacon realized that he was still waiting for an answer. "I doubt it,” he said quietly. “But I can’t be sure. Maybe we should get the hell out of here.” 

MacCready raised his eyebrows. “What about the synth?” 

Deacon was tempted to retort something snarky, like _since when do you care?_ Instead, he said, “Maybe you should get out of here.” 

MacCready was shaking his head before he’d even finished the sentence. “No way.” 

He’d figured that MacCready would say that and he had to reluctantly admit that it made sense. Even if MacCready were a thousand times stealthier than he actually was, there was no way that Deacon would abandon him to potentially deal with their watcher on his own. The watcher had to have been following MacCready first. He couldn’t be sure that their watcher was connected with the synth, although his instincts insisted that it was. Too many variables, as P.A.M. would say. Nope. A whole world of nope on that one. He'd just have to suck it up, buttercup. Work the case as best he could while both undercover and keeping an eye on MacCready. 

“All right. Then we get to play detective tomorrow. Should be fun,” he said, trying for lightness but his heart wasn’t in it. 

MacCready hesitated and lowered his eyes. “Guess you’d better stay here in case someone else shows up.” 

Deacon nodded and was annoyed to find himself feeling a little awkward. _You’ve lost count of how many people that you’ve shared beds with, either on missions or undercover or just because there’s too few beds in HQ,_ he lectured himself. _Just because you’ve swapped body fluids with this one shouldn’t make it awkward. Also don’t_ act _like it’s awkward and it_ won’t _be._

He nodded soberly and made finger guns at MacCready. “I think you’re right,” he said calmly and then lay down and closed his eyes, slowed his breathing. To all appearances, without a care in the world. 

MacCready hesitated and then leaned over to turn out the light, before tucking the blanket over himself and Deacon. And Deacon had to firmly re-route his thoughts because mostly-naked sleeping was a damn good look on the other man. 

Instead, he rapidly replayed the style choices that he'd made when creating Trader Dave. Rough around the edges, introverted, loner type. Walking the roads for a living. Superficially pleasant but keeps his deeper emotions hidden. But when Dave fell, he fell hard. The clothes and accent wouldn't be a problem, and thank god, he hadn't decided to go too deep on the tone of voice. 

There's a wall. A nice solid brick wall, and anything Deacon-ish goes behind the wall, because Dave is in charge for the next few days. 

_That will be a popular decision_ , mental-Dez observed. Yeah, he hadn’t missed Mac’s antipathy toward the Dave persona. He’d have to try and talk to him about it tomorrow. In the meantime— 

Okay, this wasn't too bad, he could manage this. Dave's a regular guy, smarter than some, simpler than most. Give him a good book and a place to read and he’s happy. 

Brit-butler snorted. _That’s not at all like Sir._

Give him a break. He’d come up with Dave on a whim and hadn’t actually intended him to live past one night. So... Dave does a little bit of everything. Scavving, guarding, plus he likes to wander, but like everyone, he's looking for the right person to be with. Someone attractive, but also strong and independent, that he doesn't need to coddle, someone quick-witted, because nothing's worse than trying to make conversation with dumb people, someone fun, with a good sense of humor, someone kind to kids, because that really shows a person's character, and... Shit! 

_Sir is not listing the ways in which_ Dave _finds MacCready attractive_ , Brit-butler said dryly. 

Yeah, that was a problem. Agent bleed. Okay, try again. Dave thinks MacCready is funny, sexy and cute and he enjoys hanging out with him....mostly because of that smartass mouth which is also quite wonderful in a variety of other ways... Deacon bit his lip and stared up into the dark. Oops. 

_Try just sticking to the basics, Deacon_ , mental-Dez pointed out. 

Okay, the walk and the talk and the clothes. He could at least handle that part. As for the rest, well, he'd think about that tomorrow.


	5. In and Out of My Life, You Come and You Go

MacCready woke up slowly, in an actual bed, in a room with an unaccustomed feeling of safety. Ahhh... Soft, clean bedding, pillow under his cheek. None of these experiences had become commonplace enough to feel typical and for an instant, he simply laid there and luxuriated in the comfort. Home Plate, he thought sleepily and Diamond City and...Deacon. His eyes popped open and he blinked at the wall. Alone in the bed. He reached out to the side and flattened one hand under the sheets. A hint of warmth indicated that some _person_ had vacated not too long ago. He lay back and stared up at the ceiling. A mishmash of salvaged boards and metal, mostly rainproof but still didn’t keep out the slight chill in the air. 

Faint noises downstairs from the kitchen. Must be Deacon, up before him. Probably putting the final touches on some complicated disguise that would require MacCready to learn a new name, hometown and profession. Not to mention whatever changes Deacon would be making in himself. Wig, clothing, accent? 

He’d forgotten how different Deacon sounded when being Dave, the nasal drawl and the somehow more complicated way of talking. Run-on sentences, questions asked without waiting for an answer and other trader’s B.S. 

When he was himself, he was...easier, voice softer and more natural and without the hard edges, his movements smooth and graceful and _relaxed_. Sunglasses still on, but more like a style affectation than as a shield to keep people (MacCready) away. When he shifted like quicksilver into someone else, someone that MacCready felt like he didn’t know, it made him think that he didn’t know Deacon, not really. And this right on the heels of deciding that they were ready for a relationship. 

For now, it was a relationship, he told himself bitterly. And last week at Tenpines had been nice, but how long before Deacon did an about-face and decided they weren’t together? That they were just two pals, hooking up once in a while? He still found himself speculating that they’d gotten together because the Railroad needed a patsy or a convenient alibi. Deacon had said different in Goodneighbor. But the question was, had Deacon been telling the truth in Goodneighbor? 

At the time, he’d thought, yes. Now, reminded how quickly and easily Deacon lied, he couldn’t help but wonder. 

The wind picked up, making a hollow noise as it rushed over the metal roofs of the City. A year spent in the Commonwealth, since he’d walked north hoping and praying that he’d find what he’d needed. And for the un-spoken cowardly reason—so he wouldn’t have to watch Duncan die. He’d either die saving him or die trying but either way he wouldn’t have to watch him waste away and get weaker and weaker. He’d left that to the others. 

He glanced down at his pack. In one of the side pockets was his most treasured possession—a letter from Red. Long and chatty, like Red, but one part was engraved on his heart— _he's getting better, RJ, eating better, color’s better. He was so weak that it’s slow, but I waited until I was sure. It’s real this time—not just another remission! A few weeks, maybe a month or two and he’ll be strong enough to travel._

Duncan would be turning five in a few months, shedding his baby fat and losing his baby teeth. Once the Commonwealth was safe and Blue got what she wanted, then he’d send for him and they’d be a family. Finally. Again. _Forever._

He sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. Would Deacon be a part of that? Be a father, a partner....he hardly dared think the words. Eight-nine months since he’d ran into a stranger at a bar posing as a trader. And now here he was back again, same stranger, same lies, same uncertainties. How long was he going to chase this? Wanting something more than allies that screwed every now and then? 

He thought about telling Sonya, _I think I love him_. Before the hurt and the anger of realizing just how he’d been duped. That this person, the soft Deacon who looked at him and said, _I like your hands_ , wasn’t who he thought he was. He was just playing a part, playing _him_ , so that he could get his stupid safehouse and his stupid Railroad tourists. 

Deacon said that wasn’t how it had been. Deacon said a lot. 

There was a loud sizzling noise from downstairs and the smell of meat frying filled the small space. His stomach rumbled. He wasn’t getting anywhere sitting up here and brooding. He went to wash up and then pulled on canvas trousers and tee and a flannel shirt without paying a lot of attention. Sound of a pot-lid clanging and then Deacon’s voice: “MacCready, is that you? You awake?” 

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said. He looked in Blue’s mirror in the bathroom and tried to flatten his hair down with his hands. Hopeless. It always practically stood up straight unless he dampened it, or cut it or hid it under a cap. Smoothed down his shirt and sniffed his pits. Pretty clean-smelling. He’d gained some weight lately and he didn’t look quite as scrawny as he normally did. He cocked one arm—gotten more bulk in his shoulders and biceps anyway. Then he sighed, thinking about facing—um, crap. His _husband_. What the heck had Blue been thinking? It wasn't like her to be so...pushy. Or was it some weird prank gone wrong?

Ha. Yeah. Great _joke._

When he went down the stairs, Deacon had his back to him, stirring something in a pan on Blue’s little cookstove. And was wearing—was that a dress? MacCready smiled despite himself. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little late for you to pretend to be my wife?” He sat down at the table and picked up a piece of bread and scrutinized it before taking a bite. “Not that I wouldn’t put it past you.” 

Deacon glanced over his shoulder and then turned around and gestured to his front. “This, you heathen, is a robe and the manliest of garments. Seriously, Troy was attacked and sacked by warriors wearing these buggers.” 

“History, boring.” MacCready sniffed. “Whatcha got there?” 

“Porridge,” Deacon replied, setting the pan down on the table. “And coffee! And I think this is sliced brahmin.” He handed MacCready a cup of dark fluid. “It’s sorta an apology breakfast.” 

“Apology for what?” MacCready sipped it...Well, that approximated coffee. 

Deacon stirred the mass in the pan, not looking up. “It occurs to me that this isn’t the first time that I’ve apologized. Maybe I really am an asshole.” He shrugged elaborately. “At any rate, Trader Dave turned out not so sweet. When we met, here in Diamond City. So I’m sorry that I have to resurrect him. But I don't mind—um, pretending to be with you, I don't want you to think that, either.” A brief look of dissatisfaction passed across his face and he stopped talking. 

Pretending? So it was all just pretending? Mac stared at him for a long moment, unsure of what to say. And was Deacon for real talking about their, uh, relationship? While he thought, he spooned some of the stuff out into a bowl and tasted it. 

Consistency of paste, with whatever grain that made it up both gritty and mushy, and absolutely no flavor. Hmm... Not the worst thing he’d ever tasted. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry, too. I'm no angel. But last night.... That wasn’t the point.” 

“Then what was the point?” Deacon sounded as frustrated as MacCready felt, and if he was lying, then he was doing a bang-up job. But he wasn’t lying. MacCready could admit, at least to himself, that he did know that much, even if he couldn’t put his finger exactly on what had upset him. 

He twirled his spoon in the bowl. “Got any syrup?” 

Deacoon handed some over. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” He sounded uncharacteristically downcast. 

MacCready added syrup. “Nah, it’s not that bad.” He took another bite and chewed silently. 

Deacon sighed. “You’re an awful liar. And this meat is dry as a stick.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I wish we had bacon.” 

MacCready finished chewing and swallowed. “In the market—” he began. 

Deacon shook his head. “That’s just a bunch of scraps that Polly grinds up and smokes. Not the real thing. I’ve read the descriptions in old books, it was fatty, salty, the most delicious meat ever.” 

There it was. Things suddenly clicked into place. MacCready cocked his head and couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. “Oh, so you want something _real_.” 

Deacon leaned back and folded his arms. “Don’t think I don’t get what you’re saying, because subtle, you’re not, MacCready.” His face looked tight underneath the sunglasses. “Didn’t I say what I wanted back in Goodneighbor? Was I not clear enough, and wasn’t Tenpines, with an actual dinner out, enough like a date? Granted the seared tatos weren’t the best I’ve had, but the company was excellent.” 

“Tenpines is in the middle of nowhere,” MacCready snapped, and yep, there it was, the same hurt and insecurity that he’d felt last night. “Before you read that note of Blue’s, you were ready to cut and run!” 

Deacon laced his fingers together like he was trying to keep himself from lashing out. “Robert. _I_ kissed _you_. In front of the guards and that was before Blue’s note and before I even knew that someone was following us!” 

“Who’s talking right now?” MacCready asked. “Dave, or Deacon, or how many other people you’re pretending to be?” 

“So you’re mad at me because I’m good at my job?” Deacon sounded incredulous. “Do I get pissed at you every time you kill someone?” 

“Yes!” MacCready said. “Even though that’s why Blue hired me!” Deacon just stared at him, not saying anything, but MacCready heard his own words echoing and flushed angrily. Deacon could say: And Blue hired _Deacon_ because he was a Railroad spy and a source of information. They both had things that they were good at. The trouble, the _truth_ was that he felt threatened by Deacon’s. He dropped his eyes away from Deacon’s disbelieving look. 

“I can tell by your face that you’re realizing how that sounded,” Deacon said. “Maybe that’s why Blue hired you but you’re more than your skills and your rifle... and that’s not an innuendo, by the way.” 

MacCready opened his mouth and then shut it, feeling foolish and put out. Deacon’s voice had that especially flat, even tone that MacCready couldn’t read at all. “So you're saying you’re more than, uh, lies and false identities?” 

“You should know.” Deacon said shortly and then got up and walked into the other room. MacCready swallowed the last of the porridge and got up, too. Now he should maybe apologize. Because, crazy as it seemed, Deacon was still Deacon. And looking back, even though he was talking in a different voice, seemed like a different person, he still acted like he _cared_ about him. Robert Joseph MacCready. He turned that thought over in his head, poked it, prodded it and had to admit that it felt good. It felt...right. If he hadn’t been so sure that any luck headed his way was bad, that he could never deserve anyone after Lucy, he might have been convinced of it a lot sooner. 

He stayed in the kitchen for a while before remembering arguments with Lucy and realizing that now it was his turn to reach out. He got up, nervousness fluttering in his stomach and found Deacon in the other half of the building. He was sitting on the couch with a book, knees akimbo. His hands tightened on the book but he gave no other sign that he’d noticed MacCready. The robe had given a lot of ground, MacCready saw, showing Deacon’s muscular thighs with a faint dusting of fine reddish hair. It made him want to fall to his kness and put his hands on them, slide them up under the robe, and... 

He shoved his hands into his back pockets and shifted on his feet, feeling out of sorts and awkward. “What now?” 

Deacon sighed and closed the book, keeping one finger between the pages to hold his place. “Now? How about we be polite, we wait and we act like Blue’s note isn’t a total lie.” 

Deacon’s tone was wary but steady. MacCready wanted to kick himself for that. It was an odd thought, that Deacon could be emotionally affected by his actions. He was so used to thinking of him as the self-assured superspy that couldn’t be touched. But I can, he thought, still half-amazed. I _totally_ can. 

“So now what? We go look for your guy?” 

Deacon’s eyes flicked up to his, briefly and then away. “Well, eventually. But things are more complicated than that. Before the guard got here, something else happened.” 

MacCready listened to Deacon’s story of the events of the night before. Wow. He would’ve rushed right into that guard and probably be cooling his heels in Diamond City’s jail right now.... Or him or Deacon dead, depending on the motivations of their mysterious watcher. And Deacon talked like it was no big deal, just another day... Deacon finished talking and thumbed through his book again. 

MacCready cleared his throat. “Um. You are really good at this. Smart and uh, quick-thinking.” _Yeah, it’s almost like it’s his job, MacCready._

Deacon lifted one shoulder desultorily and didn’t respond. 

MacCready was feeling off-balance; like he’d been in the wrong, which he hated, that Deacon was still secretly mad at him and just not showing it. That he wanted to throw his dumb book across the room and kiss him. That his worries about whether Deacon was acting or being for real had just shown him up as a dumb kid... He gritted his teeth. _You heard him. Try acting like you believe him_. Okay, well. 

MacCready went on, “I would’ve fu—uh, messed that up so I’m glad you were here. And I’m okay with your crazy acting and all. I uh,” he flushed a little. “I just wasn’t sure how to take it at first.” 

Deacon sighed and some of the tension went out of his shoulders. “Okay, thanks.” 

“Now,” MacCready clapped his hands together in anticipation. “Let's go look for that guy.” And mess _him_ up. His trigger finger itched to be wrapped around a gun. 

Deacon shook his head. “No. We’re supposed to be on our honeymoon, remember? I don’t know about you but I was not up bright and early the next morning.” 

Oh. MacCready shrugged. “No honeymoon for us. But I get it. So when?” 

Deacon turned a page, but somehow MacCready felt sure that he wasn’t actually reading at all. “Newlyweds would stay in most of the day and maybe emerge in the afternoon looking suitably rumpled and starved.” 

MacCready sat down next to him and Deacon immediately scooted a little further down the sofa. Okay, right. Two could play that game. He moved over until his leg brushed Deacon’s thigh and then when Deacon moved again—to the end of the sofa, bided his time. “So do I need to memorize a new name or something?” he asked. 

Deacon frowned. “Yeah, you don’t get it, do you, MacCready? You’re memorable. People already know who you are and that you’re with Blue and what you look and sound like. We can’t disguise that; we’d be fools to try.” He hesitated and added, “Besides, you’re not a good actor.” 

_That_ brought back memories of plays at Little Lamplight. He winced. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “So how did this,” he gestured back and forth between himself and Deacon, “happen?” He leaned closer and moved again, like a casual afterthought, until their thighs were pressed together. 

Deacon was trapped against the couch arm and couldn’t move away. He swallowed hard, but his voice was even. “Like it really did. We met, hooked up and then discovered we, uh, we liked each other. Same story half the wasteland has. Just leave out any mentions of Blue or the Railroad and we should be good, but the best course is for you _not_ to talk too much, MacCready.” 

MacCready felt a little disgruntled at the dismissive tone of his voice, even if he had to admit that he’d hadn’t helped matters earlier. Then he had an idea, a way to smooth things over and show him that now he was on board. “Okay, fine. But maybe we should, y’know. Practice.” 

Then before Deacon had a chance to respond, he leaned closer and wrapped his arms around Dea—Dave and set his chin on his shoulder. Plucked his book out of his hands and then spoke softly into his ear. 

"I keep telling you, Dave, _sweetheart_ , books don't bring enough in caps to make them worth scavenging.” His body was warm against MacCready’s and a plain tight tee-shirt showed underneath the robe-thing. “But I don’t wanna argue, okay hon?” 

Deacon raised his eyebrows. “You sure you want to do this?” 

MacCready chuckled and poked his arm. “Dave, darling, you sounded so strange just now. Not like you at all.” 

Deacon hesitated, and then answered in Dave’s voice, with the tone a little lower and something about the accent different, he wasn't sure what. This time, MacCready was prepared and it didn’t make his stomach clench. "I don’t want to argue either, sweetheart, but you know me, I just can't resist a good book." 

MacCready spoke into his ear again, low and rumbly, the way that he knew Deacon liked. “Maybe I don’t want you reading on our honeymoon. Unless.” He pretended to be thinking while he tugged the neck of the robe looser exposing more of Deacon’s long gorgeous neck. "Is this one about that hot detective you were telling me about?" 

Then put his mouth on his neck, just underneath his ear and heard his breathing hitch with satisfaction. “Not this one,” Deacon answered. “But it’s a classic romance, honey, full of drama, social commentary and witty banter in formal situations.” 

_Ugh._ MacCready couldn’t think of anything that sounded _worse_. Luckily, he had a distraction right under his hands. He kept kissing Deacon’s neck and slid one hand down his chest, enjoying the feel of his body underneath the thin cotton, found the tie to the robe and untied it. “Go on, Davey darlin’, tell me about it.” Ran his fingertips under the waistband of his boxers. 

"Uh, there's a charming and intelligent person who has a large annoying family. And then a handsome visitor who's in need of a love connection. So the charming and intelligent one with the big family is me, obviously." 

Deacon caught his breath and then pulled MacCready onto his lap, legs straddling his hips. MacCready could feel how hard he was through his boxers and ground down, suddenly annoyed by all the clothes, he put on too many clothes this morning. 

Deacon continued, his voice getting breathy. "And the handsome prideful aristocrat with maybe a jerky Past who only thinks about money—caps is you, also obviously.” 

Mac squirmed around until he could push Deacon to lie flat on the sofa, with MacCready on top of him and suppressed a groan. God, he felt good. "Yeah. And?" 

"They meet, they don't like each other at first. In fact, they're pretty rude. One thinks the other is a classless lowlife and the other one thinks they're an arrogant prick. They’re prejudiced about each other." Deacon glanced at him with a small smile, like he’d just told a joke. MacCready didn’t get it. 

He reached down and stroked Deacon through his pants, his mind only vaguely on the story. "Really? They didn't like each other?" 

Deacon clenched his jaw on a groan as MacCready's hand slid up, twisted gently and stroked down. MacCready kissed him, feeling a rush of satisfaction. “Go on, baby, tell me.” 

"They spend about two-thirds of the book sniping at each other about various misconceptions they have, while sparks fly." Deacon’s hands were on his pants, unsnapping and sliding them down and then his long fingers were on his cock and MacCready breathed out hard against his neck. 

He took them both in hand, and MacCready struggled to speak. "Sparks fly? Yeah, right there—ungh... What does that mean?" 

Deacon turned his head to capture Robert's mouth with his own. "It means," he whispered against his lips, in between kisses, "That they are quite obviously attracted to each other, and the reader can tell that they care." 

"Deacon," Robert murmured, and his hips thrust against his, speeding up, their bodies damp with sweat where they pressed together. 

"Fuck, Robert, oh god, yes," Deacon said and his body tensing exquisitely underneath MacCready, and then the faint tremble of his thighs when he came. For a few precious seconds he was just Deacon, MacCready’s Deacon, the sight and sound of him coming so easy and familiar. And the pleasure-heat coiled, tightened in his stomach and he clenched his fingers into Deacon’s shoulders and groaned. “Deacon, fuck, yes, yes.” Once the spasms eased, he slumped against him, utterly still and relaxed. 

He pulled his hand out from between them and Deacon stirred and wiped it off on his tee. “I married you for your mouth, sweetheart,” MacCready whispered to him. “But the hands were a close second.” 

Quirk of Deacon’s lips as he acknowledged the parry. “So, at the end of the story.” 

MacCready half-groaned, turning his head where it was resting on Deacon's shoulder. "You're still talking? Really?" 

Deacon kissed his nose. "C'mon, baby, this is the good part. So one realizes the guy isn't as...uh, heartless as she thought, he's actually soft-hearted and kind to the people that he's loyal to and the other is really beautiful and brave and clever. That's me, by the way, remember?" 

"Yeah. And then?" Robert yawned hugely. 

"Ah, well, they finally admit they're in love, get married and live happily ever after. No doubt occasionally arguing over the odd thing here or there. After which, sparks fly again." 

Robert shifted on the couch and inadvertently elbowed Deacon in the ribs. "Okay, wait. This couch is not comfortable." He sat up and kicked off his pants. "Come on." He grabbed Deacon's hand and pulled him to a sitting position. "We're going up to the bed, and you can tell me as many stories as you want, and then I'm gonna suck your dick." 

"MacCready!" Deacon exclaimed, trying to sound scandalized but ruining it by laughing. "This is _classic literature_." 

"Yeah?" Robert tugged on his hand until he got up, kicked off his boxers and followed him up the stairs. "More people would read it if it had more dick-sucking. Besides, it’s our honeymoon." 

He kissed him and stripped off his soiled tee, and tried not to think about how much he wished that their story would end like that one. Because no matter what Deacon said, dating was still no promise of anything...long-term. Then he stopped thinking...Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> Thanks for reading. You lovely readers are the nicest people. Thanks for all the wonderful comments--I've gotten behind on responding but I will. Summer was not a happy time for me this year, but I'm finally coming out from under that choking-sick black cloud. I know some of ya'll are familiar with that cloud, too. Let's hug and celebrate another day making it through when sometimes that feels impossible. Mac and Deacon are helping me, and I hope you continue to enjoy it, too. Thank you again!


	6. I Been Living A Lonely Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the good wishes! It helps a lot and I'm so happy that this crazy series that has taken over my mind, has others that appreciate it, too!

That afternoon, MacCready was sitting on the side of the bed, naked, sorting through the assorted junk in his pack. Courtesy of Blue, no doubt, who never saw a random gadget that she didn't like. Deacon was watching him from the bathroom, admiring the lines of his body and the deft economical motions of his hands and thinking about those hands on himself. 

He picked up the sliver of soap and looked at it doubtfully. Pretty small. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to making do, but he’d expected Blue to have a little more concern for cleanliness. Maybe there was a secret soap stash somewhere that he hadn’t found. He finished washing up and pulled on ripped-up khakis and a tee. Considered Blue's clothing and selected a nice fedora. Stylin'. She had a trench coat and he was vaguely entertained by the thought of doing a detective persona. Nick's long lost ...friend. Or something. 

As fun as it would be to see Valentine's face, it didn't fit easy-going, slightly shabby Dave. He pulled off the fedora and put it back on the shelf. He'd wear a green hat instead, plus a ratty plaid shirt. He hesitated and then added a loose denim jacket—spring or not, it was still pretty chilly out. Shoved his feet into sneakers and stretched, feeling the lingering burn of fatigue in his thighs. Then he came back to the bedroom and sat down behind MacCready, legs around his hips and wrapped his arms around his waist. 

He kissed MacCready's shoulder and admired the wealth of bare skin. Seemed almost a shame to cover it up just so they could leave and face the curiosity of the masses.... Mo was the worst gossip; he'd want to know all the details—wait. "Where did we get married?" he asked suddenly. Slipping, Deacon. Normally, he would have stuff like that figured out before spending an entire day, uh... 

Robert blew the dust off of a bioscanner and shrugged. "Goodneighbor?" 

Goodneighbor. Close enough to be feasible, disreputable enough that no one in Diamond City was likely to admit having been there.... Yeah. Plus, most of Blue’s known companions had been there just a short time ago. "Good idea," he said approvingly. "You introduced me to Blue’s crew. And Hancock officiated? Small ceremony. Nick and Piper were the witnesses." 

MacCready laced his pack up. "And then we all got drunk. So drunk that when we woke up the next morning, we weren't sure if we actually did the deed." 

Deacon chuckled. "But Hancock filled out one of those corny certificates that he's got and we found it." It was a good story. He liked it; simple, easy to remember details, and the addition of drunken blackouts could cover any superficial differences. He added, "You wore a tux. We cut down the legs, because y'know, short." 

Robert gave him a side glance. "Very funny. You wore, um, a sweater vest." 

Deacon smiled, looking over at him. "A sweater vest? What are you talking about?" 

Robert flushed. "I don't know, seems like something that would look good on you. Anyway. Plus a hat. Because, y'know, bald." 

"Point taken. And your tuxedo looked incredibly handsome." Deacon took his other hand and laced their fingers together. "No rings?" 

MacCready snorted. "No rings. Too old-fashioned. And they tend to catch when I'm switching guns." 

Deacon leaned forward so that he could kiss him. "We make a good team." Robert's mouth opened under his, making his breath catch. After a moment or so, MacCready grinned at him and pulled away. 

“Fine, go get dressed,” Deacon said in a grumbling tone and Mac got up, giving Deacon a fine view of his butt as he walked away. In another minute, Deacon could hear the water running. 

Deacon leaned back against the wall, warm from the late afternoon sunlight. It was time for them to show up in the market. Especially if they wanted fresh food and not two-hundred-year-old rations, which was most of what Blue had stored here. MacCready stepped out, smoothing a green flannel shirt across the chest and folding up the cuffs over his forearms. He was wearing jeans and boots. His hair was neatly combed and there were still droplets of water in it. 

He picked up his scarf and wrapped it around his neck and continued speaking. "But Blue gets a message and immediately dragged us...uh, I mean, me off to Monsignor Plaza, where we ended up rescuing some dumb settler. So that's why no honeymoon. Huh. See, it’s actually perfect." 

He looked absurdly pleased with the story. _I'll turn him into a liar yet,_ Deacon thought and then laughed at himself. Not likely. Then the words caught up to his brain and he frowned. Wait a minute... 

"Monsignor Plaza? That's where you were before coming here? There's like, fifty raiders in that camp." 

MacCready gave Deacon a cocky grin. "There _were_ fifty raiders in that camp." 

What the hell? Was Blue trying to get him killed? Deacon set that burning question aside for a moment and regarded him carefully. He really looked entirely too neat, didn't he? It wasn't good for their cover. “Hmmm... You don’t look quite right.” 

He stood up and took MacCready in his arms and kissed him, mussing his hair and tugging at his shirt, then moved lower, sucking on his throat. MacCready's skin was cool and still damp. He pulled back and looked at him. Eyes heavy-lidded and dark, lips flushed, and his clothing rumpled. "That's better." The dark hickey he’d left was clearly visible along the curve of his jaw. "Much better." Tried to ignore the curl of possessiveness in his stomach, the part that said that Blue had no right to endanger _his...his..._ whatever. 

MacCready blinked and then gave him a playful shove. "Are we ready, old man?" 

"Yeah." MacCready left his duster draped over the headboard and grabbed his pack. Deacon took his other hand, and they headed for the front door. 

Just before he opened it, MacCready hesitated. "Subtle or over-the-top?" 

"Over-the-top, baby," Deacon said cheerfully. They stepped outside and took deep breaths of the air—a little breeze had picked up, stirring the smells of cooking and machinery and smoke. They made their way over toward the outside tables at the Dugout and sat down. 

"This is the table, isn't it?" MacCready said, looking around. Raised his eyebrows at Deacon. "Some of my memories are a little fuzzy, for some reason." 

"You shouldn't drink so much, honey," Deacon said earnestly and then ducked when MacCready tossed a cracker at him. 

Vadim had standard bar food, nothing special. They ordered fried tatos and burgers and huddled close over their food when it came, trading bites like the most obnoxious lovebirds that Deacon had ever had occasion to silently curse at. He caught MacCready's eyes every now and then, mouthing endearments while keeping a sharp eye out for their watcher. 

MacCready tipped up a glass of watered-down moonshine and shook his head. Nothing in his field of vision. They were sitting in the open and practically shouting _Here we are!_ Deacon began to wonder if their watcher had given up... But— After that excellent trick with the security guard last night? No way. 

Deacon would sooner believe that he'd gotten another person on the payroll, someone that Deacon hadn't made yet. But he would. Sooner or later, even if he had to drag Mac all over Diamond City. Not that he wanted to do that. He looked over to where Mac was dipping one of his tatos in ketchup. He hadn't noticed that Deacon had unbuttoned the first few buttons of his top-most shirt and between that, the hickey, and the mussed hair, he looked delightfully disheveled. Like he was fresh out of bed and ready for someone to tumble him back into it. 

He had to _firmly_ return his attention to the search. Nope. He definitely didn't want to hang out in Diamond City with this guy one minute longer than necessary. Mental-Dez and Brit didn’t even bother dignifying that with a comment. 

After they finished eating, they went to Myrna's, where the proprietress was talking to Percy. As the day darkened, the sky was starting to cloud over. Looked like rain. If their shadow wasn’t going to make an appearance, then maybe it was time to head back. With provisions. 

Myrna looked them over narrowly, as if she’d never seen MacCready before. "Are you a synth?" Oh, Myrna. Never change. Deacon smirked at her. 

"Not unless synths give great head," Deacon said, bumping MacCready's shoulder with his own. 

Myrna frowned and seemed to consider the question seriously. "It doesn't seem likely," she said finally. "I guess you can shop." 

MacCready coughed. "I can’t believe you said that," he muttered, with a look at Deacon. Deacon looked back blandly, any other knowledge to the contrary firmly suppressed. Dave, wandering itinerant trader, knew exactly jack-shit about synths. 

MacCready sighed and opened his pack. "Here's what I've got." 

Deacon wrapped an arm around his shoulders while they dickered and pulled him closer, until his body was tucked against his side. MacCready ended up with a decent pile of caps in front of him and he started transferring them to an inside pocket of his pack. Deacon did some mental addition and smiled. With what MacCready already had, which Deacon had discovered when he searched the other man’s pack this morning, this would make a respectable sum. He knew Robert would be sending it to Duncan as soon as he could arrange it. While he waited, Deacon idly looked over Myrna’s shelves. 

Ah-hah! Some soap. He pointed. “We want that.” Ooh, and over there was a box of Sugar Bombs. He was sure MacCready would rather eat that than his cooking. 

Myrna took back a few of MacCready’s caps and the other man frowned at Deacon and put a hand over the pile protectively. 

“Babe, I’ve got this,” Deacon said expansively, pulling out one of Blue’s bundles. He let it drop onto the counter with a satisfying jingle and continued pointing things out. Mirelurk cakes, wrapped in foil and ready to reheat. Brahmin milk and cheese. Yum. Soap and toothpaste plus some ridiculously expensive hubflower oil. 

MacCready looked aghast. “We don’t need that,” he said, trying to push it back toward Myrna. 

Deacon waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Yeah, we do.” Okay, sure plain ol’ lube would do the job... Heh. But it smelled nice. Why not? It wasn’t his money and it was their honeymoon. 

MacCready’s ears went pink and he stared at Deacon. “Sweetheart,” he said tightly. “We—we—uh—” Then he trailed off, apparently having difficulty finding words for ‘we have plenty of sexual supplies.’ 

Deacon let him suffer for a few seconds and then took pity. “Some of the outlying settlements will pay a pretty penny for Myrna’s luxuries,” he said lightly, glancing over at her. She had a crease between her eyebrows that slowly smoothed out at Deacon’s words. 

They ended up with a good-sized stack of supplies. Deacon arranged with Percy to store them until they were done shopping, while MacCready looked it over. He picked up a teapot and looked at Deacon questioningly. “We don’t need this.” 

“There’s tea at Home Plate, Robert.” 

MacCready looked confused. “But we can mix it in the coffee pot. Or a bowl or something.” 

Deacon suppressed a twinge of irritation. Did MacCready think he couldn’t have properly-made tea? Or pleasant-smelling oil or a new fucking spoon for his cereal? 

“I don’t want to mix it in a coffeepot that tastes like stale coffee,” he said evenly. “I want it in a clean pretty teapot and you, my dear, will agree with me once you taste it.” 

MacCready shook his head but subsided. Percy was stocking Robert’s gadgets that he’d sold onto the shelves, which were noticeably thinner after Deacon’s little spree. He propped up a turret circuit board on the top shelf, next to a power relay coil. Seeing them reminded Deacon of what Robert had said earlier about the kidnapped settler. 

"I don't like just the two of you taking on the Plaza," he murmured, as they turned away from Myrna’s stall. 

MacCready shrugged. "It worked out all right." He hefted his pack, which, according to Deacon’s recollection, still contained about 20 pounds of raider guns. 

Robert stepped up to Arturo before Deacon had a chance to reply. MacCready spilled them out and the dealer whistled. “Nice.” He sorted through them and the extra ammo and gave Robert another pile of caps. 

MacCready started to leave and Deacon grabbed his arm. “Give us all your .308,” he told Arturo, feeling perverse. “And all your ten millimeter.” He thought a minute and nodded. “And all the .556.” 

MacCready made a stifled noise. “Are you crazy?” He hesitated and then added, “Sweetheart.” 

Deacon smiled and used Dave’s drawl, while Arturo looked at them appraisingly. “I married a big damn hero, babe. Gotta keep you in supplies.” 

It took most of Deacon’s remaining caps to pay for it all, but it was worth the look on MacCready’s face when he stuffed it into his pack, reserving a few of the ten millimeter for himself. 

The weapon dealer looked amused. "So I guess that rumor I heard is true." 

MacCready flushed, making the hickey on his throat stand out even more. Arturo looked him up and down, gaze lingering slightly. Deacon sighed internally. The man could not help but flirt. Clicked his tongue. “I wouldn’t believe everything you hear,” he commented. “Not unless you hear it from a _reliable_ source.” 

Arturo narrowed his eyes. "Speaking of trades, you happen to have a Geiger counter, bud?" 

Deacon smiled easily. “Mine is in the shop. And I’m really tied up with business, so I can't pick it up for a couple of days.” He hesitated before continuing. “Why? Anything...urgent?” 

Arturo shook his head. “Not urgent. I’ll give you good caps for it when you get it back, though.” He pulled out a rag and started polishing his counter. “Some new folks in the city. Besides you two, I mean.” 

“Oh, come on, we’re not new,” Deacon protested. “So are they interesting? Any good contacts for me? You know a trader lives and dies on who he knows.” 

Arturo shrugged. “Pretty boring bunch. Word is they’re a bunch of refugees that the Brotherhood kindly escorted off the airport grounds.” 

That was interesting. The Bros had cleared that area a while ago. Why were they just now showing up in Diamond City? 

MacCready was fidgeting under Deacon’s arm. “Yeah, the Brotherhood’s a bunch of jerks, can we go now?” 

MacCready slid one arm around Deacon and then inside the waistband of his khakis over his hip. The feel of MacCready’s fingers against his bare skin made his groin tighten and he had to make a point of keeping his breathing nice and steady. “Okay, sure. Keep me up on any juicy gossip,” Deacon finished quickly. 

Arturo laughed outright. "All right, all right, will do." 

Deacon caught a flicker in his peripheral vision. Someone was sitting at the noodle stand, wrapped in a baggy oversized coat, with a hood pulled down nearly over his...er, their eyes. They were apparently engrossed in the steaming bowl now but he could have sworn that he’d seen them looking at the weapon shop. 

"Fallon's," he whispered to MacCready and guided them both that direction. The wind was picking up and a swirl of dust momentarily obscured the stranger. 

Once they got down the steps, he paused outside the closed door. "Wait, let's see if they follow." 

Then since just standing around waiting would definitely look suspicious, he crowded Mac into the corner of the tiny landing and kissed him. "Fifty raiders against just you and Blue is not odds that I like," he whispered to him. "Why didn't you guys get Hancock or Valentine or hell, even that blowhard Danse to go with you?" 

MacCready licked his lips and yanked him down and kissed him again. "You should know how the boss operates," he murmured. "We had it under control." 

Deacon braced his arms on either side of Mac's body to help block any view of their lips moving. Er...well, moving when they talked anyway. "You could have gotten hurt. Hell, you could have called me, I'll help kill raiders, if it keeps the number of suicide missions in the low teens." 

MacCready wrinkled his nose and chuckled and Deacon wondered what the hell was so funny. Then he said, "You playing overprotective husband is hilarious. You'll have to do that again where someone can hear you, it's classic." 

MacCready thought he was playing? He could have been _killed._ And he wasn't too sure that Blue wouldn't just shed a token tear and then grab some other meatsuit to watch her back. Robert shouldn't trust her blindly like he did. Deacon liked her, but.. 

_Blue’s first priority is always going to be Blue,_ mental-Dez chimed in. 

_Indeed, except for perhaps her son. Whoever that is,_ snooty-butler added darkly. 

MacCready was still grinning at him and Deacon abruptly got it. 

_Sir is forgetting that he is supposed to be acting,_ Brit-butler said. Deacon closed his mouth abruptly and tried to look like he’d meant to do that. Shit. He was in so much deeper than he'd imagined. 

“Stop breaking our cover,” he muttered instead. 

MacCready winked at him. "Babe, I think you just wanted to come down here to make out, not shop." He twined his arms around Deacon's neck and pressed shamelessly closer and … Well, well. There was a shadow on the cement block wall as their shadow peeked over the railing and down at them. 

Okay. Finally. Deacon tried to feel happy and not annoyed. _Spies don’t get days off, capiche?_ He told himself, thinking of a rugged Sam Spade-type. 

_Yes, the villain is here to distract one from one’s relationship difficulties. Thank goodness._ Snooty-Brit sounded even more snooty than usual. 

Deacon took a deep breath and concentrated. "All right, he's noticed us. There’s a back exit tucked behind a rack that Becky’s forgotten about. So we wait for the right moment and duck out and we leave our guy watching the store for the rest of the night while we go check in with Valentine." 

MacCready nodded, eyes gleaming. "I like it." Then he said. louder, “Babe. The store’s gonna close and you know I wanted some new stuff.” 

Deacon released him reluctantly. “All right, sweetheart, whatever you say.” He followed him into the store, eyes dropping to Robert’s butt in his jeans. Too baggy. Maybe while they were here they could find some that actually fit? 

Becky was talking to a couple dressed like they were from outside the wall. They were setting various foodstuffs and trinkets on the counter, while she added and subtracted clothing from their pile. Another woman, that he recognized as a Diamond City native was browsing through the racks. He turned to one side and scoped out a table of shirts. Hmmm... There was a blue and white checked shirt that looked nearly new. The blue would really bring out Robert’s eyes. Snug enough to show off his shoulders, too. 

He ignored mental-Dez's mutterings about _Expenses on a mission should be kept to a minimum, Deacon,_ and checked his caps. He had enough. 

Robert poked at the shirts and toppled a neatly folded stack. Becky looked over and frowned and Deacon began hastily re-stacking them. “Rack?” MacCready muttered, out of the corner of his mouth. 

Deacon started looking through the pants. Too big, too big, too small... “Wait till someone else comes in,” he whispered. 

Deacon held the checked shirt up to him, and Robert rolled his eyes. “Yuck. Flashy.” 

“Humph. Like you know anything about fashion, Mac—uh, darling,” he said, suddenly aware of the other shopper watching them with amusement. 

The bell above the door tinkled and MacCready straightened up and looked over, eyes wide. Deacon silently willed him not to do anything stupid if it was their watcher. Two more random people entered and MacCready relaxed, all too obviously. The other shopper set down a Pre-war dress and glanced over at them again, and a brief puzzled look passed over her face. Deacon groaned internally. MacCready was still a shitty liar and actor. The new customers drifted over to the counter and started watching the ongoing transaction between Becky and the wastelanders. Also conveniently blocking the view from that side of the shop. Now. 

“Let’s look at hats, darling,” he said through his teeth and dragged MacCready over to where the old door was behind a display case. It was at the base of the stairs to the upper level and out of sight of the counter. Over the years, various Railroad agents had kept it in good repair for just this sort of thing. He kept one ear on the conversation from the front as he pretended to look at hats and waved MacCready on; he slipped behind the case and out the door quickly and silently. As long as he wasn‘t trying to act, he was quiet enough.... The bell tinkled again and Deacon tensed. No one he recognized. Okay, that was as good as it was going to get. He turned the knob and slipped out. 

MacCready was leaning against the wall of the tiny alley between Fallon’s and the haircut place. Shame they couldn’t duck down to Piper’s but both she and Nat were out of town, so no help there. 

MacCready chuckled and pointed. “Good one, Deacon,” he said, shaking his head. “Now we can’t ever go back in that store.” 

And Deacon realized that he still had the blue checked shirt tucked under one arm. He flushed and stuffed it in Mac’s pack. “Very funny, mister look up wide-eyed every time the bell rings!” 

Then he realized, with some chagrin, that now _he_ was the one breaking cover. He took a deep breath and said, “Well, sweetheart, shall we?” and held out his hand for MacCready to take. They ducked down the alley until it connected to Third Street and then into another that would take them directly behind Nick’s place. No sign of their watcher, who was still hopefully watching the front entrance of Fallon’s. Deacon breathed out a sigh of relief. Things were finally going _right_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Famous last words, amiright?


End file.
